28 Year Old Summit
A tête-à-tête between DC's finest mind and Twitter's Audrey Horne
Every month or so the burdens of life become too great to bear and I call up my friend Chris McCaffery of the Washington Review of Books to see if he wants to meet for 28-year old Steak and Turtleneck Club, wherein we wear black turtlenecks, order medium rare steaks and glasses of red wine and air out the complaints unique to those of us toiling towards 29. Chris and I have the good fortune of having been born exactly nine days apart (I’m older) and so our problems converge in a way that would be impossible to parse for anyone born before March 27 or after April 5, 1994.
The rules of attendance are strict. You must wear a black turtleneck and you must be 28 years old. Junior members and emeritus members are very rarely admitted with honorary guest status, but don’t get your hopes up for an invitation. Every day, 28-year olds are forced to interact with people of all ages (e.g. 23, 27, 40), people who could never grasp what it’s like to be 28 in 2023. It gets to be too much. One longs for respite and understanding.
Chris is a Long Island native, very well read and very well spoken. He is known to many as the gracious host of Thursday dinner (which I often refer to as ‘Catholic dinner’ on Twitter given the high concentration of Catholics and my own nondenominational status). Thursday dinner is a great opportunity to see and be seen by DC’s population of Alex P. Keaton lookalikes and the occasional dissenting DC DSA member, though these have become scarcer as Republican forces have increased. All are welcome to attend though*, and it’s the best place to get a home cooked meal in the district and see Chris and his roommates (all sweet friends of mine). Unfortunately, as he is both chef and beloved host, it’s difficult to get a word with him one-on-one on Thursdays, another reason why 28-year old Steak and Turtleneck Club was founded.
All this to say we met for dinner last night at St. Anselm, ordered the usual with the addition of brussels sprouts (delicious), chocolate cake (deserved), and two macchiatos (necessary), and launched straight into the chief complaint of our time which is that any attempt at fun in DC is stifled by the lack of sex appeal endemic to a population of overeducated, self-serious career partisans who can’t have a conversation without referring to policy or post-leftists who can’t face the smallest disagreement without throwing a tantrum. There’s certainly not enough sex appeal here to sustain the kind of regional literary scene that’s in danger of dying out these days.
Chris said New York City is the only place that can support a life devoted to frivolity and alcoholism, which is why it’s so fun to go up there. No one comes to DC to half-finish an MFA. No one in New York is going to grate on you about tax credit. That’s why things are the way they are. That’s why Twitter’s Audrey Horne takes the train up there twice a month. Have you ever been to a party in DC? Have you ever been to a party in New York? Exactly.
All this is fine. We’re gentle people. We have jobs. We go to church. We like to host. We like to listen. We like to run a smooth operation. We know the pattern of life in the DMV and submit ourselves to it and pop up to New York for respite when we can. But as we look down the barrel of our respective 29th birthdays, we both have to ask ourselves: Isn’t there a dimly lit dive bar where we can listen to people read poetry without hearing about Ron DeSantis? Or Real Americans? Or Crypto-Fascists or Big Tech or the New Right or China?
DC may not be the center of literary power (yet), but it is still the center of some kind of power. It is only three and a half hours from New York on the Acela corridor. There’s a conversation happening. People read here. There is hope. If Chris and I are capable of imagining a world where people are embarrassed to talk about industrial policy at a party, a world where the hoes aren’t scared, so too are our neighbors. Surely we are not the only ones in the district who would like to attend a buzzy little launch party after the style of Salty Pickle’s New York, and down tequila sodas, and talk about God and movies and what they Mean without fearing the call of Reagan or Marx. A flavor of the political will always touch anything in Washington (and why would we be arrogant enough to demand different from nature), but isn’t there a way we could make it sexier? I think so, and so does Chris. If you think we’re missing the point, please leave us alone. We are 28 years old. The light is dying. We want to have fun. You don’t get it!**
*Thursday dinner is not a political event. It is a dinner that happens on Thursdays.
** watch this space Chris and I have some ideas
We are witnessing the dawn of the preeminent writer and cultural critic of our time
Unless there's some literary purpose that's over my head, "(i.e. 23, 27, 40)" should be e.g..., not i.e.
A handy pneumonic:
* i.e. - In other words
* e.g. - for Example
Overall, I enjoyed the piece. Coy understatement and indirection always gets a smile.